Monday, July 30, 2007

Bloor Line, doing ankle twists.

Black woman, mid 40s, with half glasses, wearing a sleeveless black and silver speckled blouse and deep red skirt. Her bookmark is a strip of purple ribbon with a broad stripe of gold running up its centre.

The Ravenscar Dynasty, Barbara Taylor Bradford (St. Martins Press)

Edward touched his father's shoulder and closed his eyes. Good-bye, he thought, good-bye. Then he moved on to look at his dearest brother. But the Edmund he had known and loved was not here either. He touched his shoulder, said good-bye to the boy inside his head, and moved on sadly.
She'd raised a finger -- Just one second; I can do this -- and continued down the page, listing her grandfather's accomplishments. It had been a warm day, winter not that far past. Scarves and gloves seemed out of place, and, indeed, many of the women dabbed under the brims of their Sunday best hats. On this Tuesday, a strapping young man mowed the lanes wearing only shorts and a tank top.

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